I’m reminded suddenly about what my father said—about how if I manifested a dragon, I would be king of the skies. But he was wrong. Because my dragon drops in supplication to her. She’s the one who rules, and I couldn’t be more fucking proud. The sight affects the Vulmin and the Lydians too. They all stand in gaping awe, watching this golden Turley stand here, as a dragon, the most ancient of powers, bows to her. I climb down its back, leaping off the last few feet, my boots kicking up dust from the decayed soil. I go to her, and the two of us share a look before we turn back toward the city’s
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